Page 79 of King of Praise
Her words follow me out into the cold morning air, echoing in my mind as I start the truck and point it toward Columbus.
Come back to me.
Such a small request carrying such enormous implications.
In our world of violence and secrets, promises of return often go unfulfilled. Yet for her, I will move heaven and earth to keep this one.
I pullinto Zeke’s winding driveway, gravel crunching beneath my truck’s tires. The pristine white colonial mansion looms ahead.
It’s barely ten in the morning, but the urgency of Sandra’s threats propels me here despite the early hour. Zeke’s black Mercedes and Eve’s unmarked police cruiser in the circular drive confirms they’re both home.
Leo’s cheerful shout draws my attention to the front yard where he’s constructing an impressive snowman. The sight of his innocent play—mittened hands carefully placing coal eyes on his creation—clashes with the dark matters I’ve come to discuss. Eve watches from the front porch, her detective’s badge conspicuously absent, though her observant nature remains evident in the way she tracks my approach.
“Bit early for a social call,” she says as I climb the steps. Her professional wariness softens with recognition, though complexity lingers in her eyes.
“Sandra’s making threats.” I keep my voice low, mindful of Leo’s proximity. “Need your input.”
Eve’s expression shifts subtly—concern flickering beneath her composed exterior. She leads me through the grand foyer toward the kitchen. The house’s opulence still unsettles me despite years of friendship with Zeke. My own tastes run simpler, shaped by decades of maintaining a low profile in Columbus’s criminal underbelly.
The kitchen presents a scene of tranquility that feels surreal given our circumstances. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating Zeke at the island counter with a steaming mug of coffee. Family photos cover the stainless steel refrigerator—Eve and Leo at the zoo, holiday gatherings, casual moments of happiness preserved in time. The expensive coffee machine burbles softly, its rich aroma mingling with lingering breakfast scents.
“You look like shit,” Zeke observes, pushing a fresh mug toward me. His casual tone belies the sharp assessment in his dark eyes. We’ve known each other too long for pretense.
I accept the coffee gratefully, the warmth seeping into hands chilled from the winter morning. “Sandra called this morning.”
Eve settles onto a barstool beside Zeke, her posture attentive. “What did she want?”
“Same thing she always wants—justice for Lucas.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “She’s convinced Naomi killed him, that I’m hiding her somewhere.”
“She’s not entirely wrong,” Zeke mumbles, earning a sharp look from Eve.
“Plausible deniability, Zeke,” Eve scolds. “Don’t tell me anything.”
I grip my mug tighter, forcing myself to maintain composure. “She’s threatening to push for a deeper investigation. Maybe hire a PI.”
Eve’s expression remains carefully neutral as she processes this information. Her position in the department gives hervaluable insight. “From everything Detective Archer told me, the evidence supporting a drug-related violence is solid. Forensics back it up. There’s nothing in the case file that would redirect attention to Naomi. Though it could help if you made Naomi available for an interview. That could get Detective Archer to close the case faster.”
“Never gonna happen.” I struggle to keep my voice calm at her suggestion.
Eve shrugs. “Well then, we wait. Sandra may complain but there’s no evidence to suggest otherwise.”
“She’s persistent,” I counter, remembering the fanatical tone of her voice. “She won’t let this go easily.”
“No,” Eve agrees, “but she has no actual evidence linking Naomi to Lucas’s death. Just speculation and grief-driven suspicion.”
The reassurance should comfort me, yet anxiety continues churning in my gut. Sandra’s determination has always been her most dangerous quality. It’s what allowed her to turn Lucas against me all those years ago.
“There’s something else,” Zeke says suddenly, his dark eyes fixed on my face with unsettling perception. “Something beyond professional concern for Naomi’s safety.”
The directness of his observation catches me off-guard, though perhaps it shouldn’t. Zeke has always possessed uncanny insight into those around him, particularly those he considers family.
For a moment, I consider deflection—the instinctive response of a man accustomed to keeping his personal life separate from professional matters.
Instead, I meet his gaze steadily. “My feelings for Naomi have evolved beyond simple protection.”
The admission hangs heavy in the air between us. I offer no justification, simply truth. The silence stretches uncomfortably until Eve breaks it with unexpected warmth.
“I suspected as much,” she says, a genuine smile softening her professional demeanor. “And honestly? I think you might be good for each other.”
